


The Rising Sky

by speakwolf



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-28 05:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12599592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakwolf/pseuds/speakwolf
Summary: I suck at summaries, but it takes place after the Trials of Apollo and focuses on Percy and the Greek heroes.





	1. Chapter I

            Percy’s life took a downturn when he had his wallet stolen. Dressed like an Eskimo with his jet black hair an unruly mess of divine proportions, the nineteen-year-old demigod was walking very, very slowly along a dark alley in the middle of a freezing December night. He was wearing sneakers, but the blanket of snow on the ground covered them entirely. The night was unusually cold, even for New York.

            Percy internally cursed the god of the sun, Apollo, for not doing his job. He didn't get a response, of course. He took note of his surroundings as he searched for his friend Scott's apartment. The alleyway was lighted only by a pair of Roman candles attached to an upscale apartment halfway through the alley. Just as Percy made the motion to turn to his right, he was knocked into the snow by a swift blow to his head.

            Groggily, Percy woke up on a pile of snow. He was almost certain he saw a figure standing over him, but everything was a blur. He blinked several times, finally coming to full consciousness, only to see the figure had vanished. Checking that he had everything, and sighing when realizing that he had his wallet stolen, Percy debated on getting up. Maybe it was hypothermia, or just him being done with the world for the night, but he took his sweet time hoisting himself up.

            Completely guessing on which direction the thief went with his wallet, a very cold Percy ran north, racing through stalled traffic, jumping over taxi cabs, and stepping on SUVs. He came out at the beginning of another alley. He couldn't believe it when he saw what appeared to be the same figure waiting for him in the middle of the narrow ass alley. Percy grinned, eager for a smackdown. His earlier apathy for anything related to movement disappeared.

            It turned out that the chase that Percy had mapped out in his ADHD mind wasn't in the plans for the fates. He managed to catch up with the thief, but just as he tried grabbing the other guy, Percy was knocked to the ground again, this time by truck sized Hellhounds. Naturally, Percy thought as he struggles to grab his sword Riptide.

            He fails spectacularly to get any sort of protection as the monsters try to rip his head off with their teeth. He regretfully uses his hands to protect himself, covering his face as he tries pushing the monsters away. One of the Hellhounds latches its mouth onto his arm, causing Percy to scream in pain. The beast bites down hard, tearing away the clothing fibers of his beige Northface parka and spilling blood everywhere.

            Blood flows down his arm as the same Hellhound slashes Percy's face. Percy is pinned to the snow-covered ground by the beast, howling in pain at the attack on his arm. He's crying out in pure agony, bopping his head away from the monsters. Blood flows from his face and his arm, and then later his chest when another beast tears apart the flesh covering his ribcage and heart. He's losing consciousness from the loss of blood, growing number with the second, third, and fourth slash of his chest. After everything he’s been through in his life, this is not how he wants to die.

            Percy doesn't quite remember what happened, but for some reason, he didn't die. The Hellhounds on his chest vaporize in a cloud of golden dust. He passes out before he can see what happened, thinking surely he had died this time. He doesn't see his uncle, which is strangely unnerving. When he wakes up again, he's in the same place, but the thief from before is now accompanied by another guy. A medium height Hispanic guy with a scruffy beard, thick brown hair, and light brown eyes tends to his wounds, pouring amber fluid Percy thinks might be whiskey over his damaged chest, and wrapping a whole roll of gauze around his left arm.

            The instant the amber liquid hits Percy's chest, a heavenly feeling overtakes him. He hallucinates that he's 12 years old again, drinking nectar for the first time. The distant memory of nectar tasting like soggy chocolate chip cookies lasts for about a minute before it's interrupted by a burning sensation on his face. Percy flinches back when an ice cold cloth is draped over his face, where the Hellhound swiped.

            "Whoa", he starts before getting dizzy again. He can faintly hear two unfamiliar voices speak in a language that is not Latin, Ancient Greek, Modern Greek, or English. He knows it's not Spanish because he's been yelled at by plenty of Hispanic demigods and mortals over the course of his life. A little more brainpower. Little more. That's it. It's French, specifically, the two dudes are talking to each other in Canadian French. Like Frank Zhang, only Frank's not there. He doesn't have Piper with him, obviously, so he has not a clue what they're saying.

            The voices slow down before the same medic from before comes into view. The Hispanic guy is wearing a black and white paramedic jacket with a name Percy can't make out. "I hope you don't mind, but I dumped some...Nectar, I think it's called that, on your cuts", the paramedic says in a thick Spanish accent. He doesn't pause for Percy's response before wrapping more gauze over his chest. He doesn’t stop to wonder how the Hispanic dude might know how to read Ancient Greek.

            "You used my nectar?” Percy asked dumbly. The paramedic of no-name looked at Percy strangely, as if he thought he was some sort of alien that crash-landed in Brooklyn. Percy feels much better than before, but he can barely make out his next words. "Are you a demigod?” he asked hesitantly. Now he's internally slapping himself. Of course, this guy isn't a demigod. He looks like he's 30. Before either one of them can say anything, the thief from earlier, a tall red-haired guy with a somewhat off-kilter jaw, throws Percy’s wallet on his forehead, away from his cuts. "I'm Archer, and we need to go before all three of us freeze to death", is all the thief says in a distinct Brooklyn accent before turning his back to walk away, to where Percy isn't sure. That's one Hades of an introduction, he thinks before succumbing to sleep once more.

            There's a faint sound of fire embers crackling in the distance when Percy comes to consciousness for the millionth time that night. At least he assumes its night. His stomach rumbles like a truck engine giving one last start before death at the aroma of food. Great food. Mexican food, to be exact. He briefly thinks he's back at Camp Half-Blood with his friends Connor and Travis eating extremely spicy rice off of Leo Valdez's plate moments before being slapped by said Latino friend. Oh, how he wished he could see his friends now. Any of his friends would be good.

            He'd never admit this, but he'd trade what's left of his soul to see Clarisse La Rue's face again, sneering down at him after kicking him into the dust near the volleyball courts at camp. He hadn’t seen Clarisse since forever ago. He's pulled from his nostalgia when somebody brings him a Styrofoam plate of steaming green and yellow rice, three large fried meat pockets he thinks are chimichangas, and one whole lemon that's slightly burnt. He's so hungry he doesn't stop to think about a lemon being cooked whole. He reaches out to grab one of the fried heaven looking meat pockets but it's so hot he yanks his hand away.

            He's sitting on a lumpy plastic wrapped lemon colored sofa that he thinks might be the same as those shown on What Not To Do With Yellow postcards the Aphrodite cabin handed out a few years back during their 'Fashion Awareness Week'. Some Drew Tanaka bullshit. Well, Drew, he remembers now. In front of him is a wooden TV dinner stand like the ones you have when you're six and it's cool to eat in front of a TV. The walls are paper white, but that hardly matters as in every available space there's a picture frame featuring Jesus Christ's judging face.

            He's facing sideways towards the kitchen, where hundreds of Roman candles are lined up in domino format on a small yellow rounded, and somewhat lopsided table. Even the China cabinet has small statues of Jesus standing proudly upon it. There's Mexican music playing somewhere, but Percy doesn't care because he's hungry. The face from before tries speaking to him, but he's so hungry he doesn't hear at first. A Brooklyn accent. 

            Percy momentarily forgets about his food when he sees the tall red-haired Archer Noble roll in the room on a lemon colored chair, like the ones mortal doctors use. Archer speaks again,

"Percy, “he says loudly. Yes. "Yeah...my name", Percy says stupidly. Who the Hades introduces themselves as that? Archer isn't amused it seems because he shakes his head and tries again. Percy's hungry again. Surely the food isn't steaming anymore. "You asked Miguel if he was a demigod", the ginger man states. Great, Percy thought. This conversation. "Umm, yeah", he starts. Unamused blue eyes stare back at him. They look sort of like the sky in the summer, maybe baby blue? Percy always wanted blue eyes. This thief had great eyes.

            Apparently, he said some of this out loud because the Brooklynite laughs in a sound Percy could get addicted to hearing. Laugh again, Archer. Archer’s eyes crinkle, his hand slapping his thigh. He's wearing tight blue jeans and a white hoodie Percy thinks might be Abercrombie. "I asked about what you said, but I guess my eye color is fine". Percy can feel his face heat. He tries to turn his head, but a sharp pain comes in full force. "Okay, so, like, um, I'm kind of not, you know, uh, normal, like uh, you", Percy stammers.  He's unable to speak around this guy.       

            "Clearly", the voice that he figures belongs to Miguel as mentioned before says, his face coming into view again. Miguel is frowning down at the untouched plate of food. He grabs it, but Percy makes a noise of protest. Luckily Miguel looks back at him. "You want it?” he asks in a confused tone. Of course he wants it! "I haven't eaten in like two days, man, I want the food". A perfect sentence. No stammering. Nothing.

            Miguel sets the plate down and sets to leave. Before he can, Archer calls him back, this time in English. "I asked him about the demigod thing, and he told me my eyes were blue. I'm getting nada bro". Miguel snorts. "Alright, dude, Percy, I don't know what attacked you, but they looked like truck sized great Danes so please tell me they won't come again". Percy shakes his head. "They will. I'm a demigod, like a strong one". Archer snorts. Percy glares. Miguel laughs. "Yeah, but what's a demigod bro?” Miguel asked again in a laidback Spanish tongue. "Well, we're kind of like the kids of Greek gods, like Apollo and stuff. We have powers", he answered in a matter of fact tone. Why'd he say Apollo and not Poseidon?

            Archer frowns. Miguel tilts his head like he thinks Percy's crazy or something. This is going to be a long night. He means to say he's not crazy, but instead, he asks Miguel if he can have his food. But it's in front of him. He's very tired. "I mean, I'm going to eat now because I'm starving". Archer stares at Percy like he's some kind of animal. Is it bad to be hungry after not eating anything, not even a banana for two full days?            

            "Fine", Miguel says, his mouth set into a firm line. Percy takes a monster sized bite out of the chimichanga from before. Except it's cold now. He swallows before trying to speak because he learned one thing from his mother in nineteen years alive. "There's a camp in Long Island that I kind of live at. I would like to go there, like after I'm done eating though". Percy hoped he didn't sound too rude.

            Archer and Miguel stare at each other. Some sort of telepathic bro communication takes place before both guys nod their heads. Miguel's head is the first to turn to Percy. "Fine, we'll go, if you prove you're not insane. Show your powers, if you have any that is". Oh, my gods.

            "Fine", Percy says. He scans his surroundings looking for any evidence of water. Aha! A glass of water right in front of him. One Minnesota, two Minnesota. The tall glass shatters in hundreds of pieces, the previously lukewarm h20 freezing into a jagged block. That seems to do the trick because almost instantly Archer and Miguel walk away to grab their coats from a jacket rack next to the China cabinet. It seems to be unspoken that Percy will follow them, leaving his food behind. Except he won't. He stuffs the two untouched cold chimichangas into his jacket pockets and turns to leave, almost falling to the floor in the process.

            "I'm fine!” he shouts. But his two companions are already heading out the door through the kitchen. He hears a door shut and scrambles to run. Could this day get any worse? He pushes the rolling chair to the ground in his race outside. When he finally runs out the door and slams it behind him, Archer is waiting for him outside of an old banana colored Camaro. Tick three for fashion offenses, as Drew would say in her Valley girl voice. In his burgundy leather jacket from when he tried taking off with a wallet that wasn't his, Archer jokes, "you're kind of slow for an all-powerful half mortal, Jackson". Oh no. No more Jacksons. "It's Percy". Archer rolls his eyes before opening the front passenger car door and shoving Percy in the seat. He slams the door shut.

            Before Percy knows it, Archer is already buckled in the back seat of the hideous sports car and yelling for Percy to use "common sense road safety" as Miguel slams his foot on the accelerator and almost wrecks into a parked food delivery truck. "Oh, by the way", Miguel shouts without looking at Percy. They're speeding through a frozen street along dark apartments like maniacs. "What's the address for this camp of yours again?” Percy's head slams against the back of his cushioned headrest before he can answer. "Near Montauk Point. It’s a strawberry farm". Miguel nearly wrecks when he whips his head around to face Percy. "You're joking!” "I never joke", he lies. His whole life is a joke. Archer laughs from the back as Miguel continues his assault on speed limits. Percy is very tired.

  
            Percy tries his best to direct Miguel towards Camp Half-Blood but he’s exhausted. He must have fallen asleep at some point because when he opens his tired, tired eyes the awful looking Camaro is parked in the grass at Half-Blood hill's entrance point. Except Miguel knocked down the hundreds year old sign that read 'Delphi Strawberry Service'. The gods will be very mad. Miguel sheepishly looks at Percy from his driver's seat. “You said it was a strawberry farm. I may have hit the sign”. Miguel is his best friend now. Archer chimes in. “You mean you didn't see the sign because you can't read”. Archer looks towards Percy. “He’s dyslexic”. Whoa, whoa. Percy turns his head sharply to look at Miguel, who's currently glaring daggers at Archer.

            He’s dyslexic? “You're dyslexic?!” Percy exclaims. Miguel turns to Percy. “Is that a problem?” “No”. “Good”. Miguel is a demigod like him. It all makes sense. If he can't read English, surely he's a demigod. But how doesn’t he know if he’s like 30?  Suddenly a thought pops up in his mind. Percy spins his head around to look at Archer. “Can you read the sign?” All he gets in response is a kick to his seat and a yell of protest from Miguel. He waits. No words. Okay then. Miguel seems to have a heart because he answers for his friend. “No”. Archer kicks Miguel's seat. By the look on Miguel's face, Percy knows shit is about to go down.

            Punch to Arthur's knee. “Ow!” Another punch. “Bro!” A third punch till Percy intervenes because the car is now being surrounded by an angry horde of Hellhounds, Cyclopes, giants, and one nasty Lydian drakon. Honestly, Percy would prefer the Minotaur over that drakon anytime, anywhere. “Um guys, do you see this”, Percy asks tentatively, thumbing towards the horde of monsters on the tinted passenger window. Monsters probably don't care if the windows are tinted, however. Not even a second later Miguel yelps and jumps from his seat at the sign, hitting his head on his car roof. Archer's face has whitened by twenty shades, his body shaking at the sight. Percy can't even think how they can see the monsters before the car is lifted by a dozen giants and hurled sixty feet into the air, directly smashing into a tree with a thump.

            Ow. Percy's forehead is bleeding, dripping liquid red drops on his patched up hoodie. His coat is unzipped, but his bandages on his chest cause a bump under his tight fitting orange Camp Half-Blood hoodie. He feels brand new bruises begin to form on his chest from the wreck. His ears are ringing, but he can't think about that. Miguel grabs a hold of his hoodie's collar, pulling his body with surprising strength in a diagonal direction to him, before kicking his way out of the windshield. Archer is already awake, but his nose is broken and his head is also bleeding. Miguel's foot is almost all the way out of the broken windshield before he's dragged across the grass by a giant and punched in the face. He's still clutching a hold of Percy, though, with dear life. Percy thinks for a moment about Archer, but then a Cyclops rams its head into Percy's and whacks his head again with a rock. Percy crumples like paper to the snow covered ground.


	2. Chapter II

Camp Half-Blood was unusually quiet. For a camp full of over 300 demigods, satyrs, nature spirits, and other weird godly creations, quiet was not the norm. It was in the middle of December, in the wee hours of the morning, before any sane demigod would be awake, but it was eerily silent. Under normal circumstances, the forest was a cacophony of sounds from monsters, nymphs, satyrs, and naiads. Now, the only noise came from the rustling of trees as heavy snow blanketed the ground. 

            Snow blanketed the ground of the forest and every outside surface in the camp. The gods must have wanted to give the campers a snowy December, as that’s exactly what they got. It didn’t snow, per say, since if it did the gods on Olympus would get very rude letters from their children. Campers just woke up to snow. Yet it was snowing now. Within seconds, snow almost four inches thick draped over the surface of the camp, sealing in a coffin of moody, half-mortal children.

            Just past midnight, noise at the base of Half-Blood Hill struck an Underworld size difference to the otherwise quiet camp. Two demigods struggled to survive an onslaught of brutal attacks by monsters out for their blood. Just outside of the property line, a severely damaged banana colored 1979 Chevy Nova lay sideways, its windows smashed in thousands of pieces scattered across the deserted road that bordered farmhouses and trees. The passengers were long since gone, but a puddle of human blood blanketed the backseat.

            The steering wheel had been ripped out, the remains of it tossed to the side of the car. Blood collected on the dashboard, small droplets settling on the floor and the elongated passenger seat. The roof of the car looked as if it were smashed in by a California redwood tree sized fist. The right side passenger door was caved in. 

            Near the back of the car lay a bloodied and bruised young red-haired man, his leg twisted at the knee in an inhuman position. Glass covered his body and face. He looked to be in his late teens. Remains of a cellphone were scattered in his blood-covered palm. Beneath him, blood pooled onto the road.

            Up ahead of the scene of the car wreck, a fierce fight for survival raged. Monsters surrounded an older male of Hispanic descent and his badly wounded, unconscious companion he had draped over his shoulders. The older fighter’s clothes were shredded and covered in blood, the sticky substance dripping to his hiking boots and painting them an ugly shade of red. He wore a tattered thermal turtleneck sweater, a ripped murky brown jacket with its hood torn off, a wool scarf, and dark tight jeans ripped almost entirely at the left knee, displaying a horrific leg wound for all to see.           

            He fought off the horde of monsters with a disfigured arm, swiping in every direction with a Greek bronze sword, the hilt caked in dried blood. Flakes splashed in the fighter’s mouth. His forehead was marred in cuts and bruises. Cheeks of light brown were painted red. Fresh blood rained down from a four-inch wide cut on his forehead. A welt on his head dripped a river of blood down his face, bleaching his curly brown hair dark red. Elfish ears escaped from low hung hair. One ear was completely covered in blood, the sticky red substance snaking down his neck to make for an ugly dried scar. His other ear was bandaged. He looked like a Mexican George Weasley with both ears wounded.

            Despite his appearance, the fighter resisted the monsters, his body slowly drifting up the hill. With his free arm, he clutched tightly to the body of his wounded companion, who the monsters seemed eager to finish off. He grunted and thrust the sword with all the strength he had left, which wasn’t much. Snow caked over the hill like a frosted cupcake, with a large white pine tree dotting the top of the hill like a Christmas decoration.

            It wouldn’t be much longer until the fighter gave into exhaustion. His willpower was strong, but it was fading by the minute. His weary eyes dared to look for half a second up ahead on the hill. Everything was white from the snow, making it all the more welcome. His destination. A land of promise and respite for a weary soul. 

            Further up the hill from the fighter a dozen exhausted swordsmen struggle to ward off hordes of blood-thirsty monsters. Massive black dogs, one eyed giants, thirteen foot long ogres with biceps like skulls, reptilian women, fire breathing metallic bulls, a seven headed rhinoceros, and a massive half man, half bull creature surround the fighters. At the top of the hill, an enormous dragon slept curled around the pine tree.

            Archers perched beside the tree knock off hundreds of arrows at the monsters, taking down hellhounds and Cyclopes before being dragged off and ripped apart, their bodies becoming mere carcasses. With one lone archer left, his quiver almost empty, the monsters circle. The dragon sleeps on peacefully. In contrast to the fierce battles, demigods inside the safety of the camp sleep in their makeshift cabins, entirely unaware of the reality outside.

            The older fighter’s luck and stamina is wearing down as he makes his way towards the camp’s entrance. With only minutes left until he collapses from exhaustion, the fighter gives one last stand. Now within hearing distance of the fighter, one swordsman yells out. His plume has fallen off, revealing his buzz cut dark red hair, freckles, and a broken nose. His hair is matted in green slime and dried blood, one of his arms broken, and his other swinging a bloodied sword, but his fierce determination keeps him going. He looks on in horror as more monsters chase after the fighter and his limp companion. The red-haired swordsman makes his way down the hill just as his fellow swordsmen are surrounded. The lone archer on the hilltop scales the tree to escape the monsters.

            Inside the camp, near the exit, four teenaged males, all wearing shorts and orange T-shirts and carrying fireworks, candles, and lighters in their muscled arms are heading to a large blue farmhouse when they notice the commotion on the hill. As the fighter inches closer up the hill, and the monsters follow, the rebellious campers drop their items and pull out long bronze swords.

            The teenagers run to aid the lone archer, who by now is putting up his last fight. The other archers have fallen, the monsters have circled around the tree, but the friendly dragon remains asleep. As the reinforcements ward off the monsters to defend the archer, the lone red-haired swordsman is circled, his luck wearing thin. The Hispanic fighter is left to fend for himself. Meanwhile, the camp remains asleep.

            The lone archer, defended by his reinforcements, leaps from the tree, over the dragon, and races down the hill to help aid the older fighter. Injured and tired from his blood loss and the cold, the archer takes the older fighter’s limp companion with him back up the hill, leaving the fighter alone, once again. It’s not until the fighter collapses does help arrive, in the form of a gangly teenager. The teenager, armed with a serrated bronze sword and carrying a massive shield, drags the fallen fighter up the hill and to the pine tree, where the lone archer waits with the limp nineteen-year-old. It’s not long until they are ambushed by monsters. 

            When the camp did awake for the day, the snow around the hill and circling around the tree was almost six inches deep. Large pools of blood turned the snowy landscape into a peppermint candy piece. Lifeless bodies lay in the snow, a reminder of the night’s horror.

            It would be two heavily armored teens, one boy, and one girl respectively, who discovered the bodies. The dragon was asleep, deepening the mystery of what happened. The camp quickly learned of the bodies, as rumors swirled fast in a camp full of over two hundred and fifty teenagers. It dampened the mood of many, knowing who the bodies belonged to. A funeral would be held that night around a large fire as was the tradition for fallen campers.

            The camp director, Chiron, and his godly counterpart Dionysus knew it was only the beginning. The camp hadn’t seen an attack so deadly on the hill dubbed Half-Blood Hill in over a decade. Winter had come with a vengeance.


	3. Chapter III

The day following the deaths and subsequent burials of the demigods at the camp was a tough one for campers. Not only had they buried friends, and to some their brothers, but the camp’s snow seemed to be permanent.

            In the camp’s infirmary, over twenty wounded campers lay in comfortable white cots recovering when Chiron, the half-man, half-horse camp director and his companions, a youngish looking guy in a white doctor’s coat that read ‘Dr. Fred’ and a badly bruised younger blonde teenager in biker’s shorts and a hoodie walked in. The student had one arm in a sling and one foot in a cast. He could’ve been fooled for a patient.

            The younger guy was wearing sandals, striking a stark contrast to the December climate. He had a black sports backpack over his shoulders, a mild case of facial hear growing, a serious lack of teenage acne, white-rimmed glasses, and short wavy blonde hair creasing over in a small spot in the back. He looked like a typical high school student, possibly an athlete.

            Arriving all together to stand over the sleeping form of a badly wounded young man, the three companions simultaneously released collective sighs of anguish. The young man’s body was marred with great lacerations, dark bruises, red welts, scars, blue blobs, and white bandages. One of his arms was entirely encased in white wrapping. His left eye was prematurely shut with bruising, his nose caked in dried blood, and the whole right side of his face marred by scars and what appeared to be marks from a mace. This demigod had been in quite a fight.

            One of his legs was raised up in a white cast over an incline, the other wrapped in a sea green brace. His right arm was raised up in a cast. The scars on his face were visible until his forehead, where a tightly wrapped starkly white bandage covered from his forehead to the back of his skull, dropping down just half an inch. He didn’t look like he’d be responsive anytime soon. It didn’t help that he was as stock still as a statue.

            The first visitor to speak was the older male in a doctor’s coat. He looked to be in his early thirties. Releasing a deep sigh, he spoke in a tone not very promising. “I haven’t seen any improvements in his condition since I checked it earlier this morning. As far as my tests and my expertise can tell, he’s the same as when he arrived. The good news is he hasn’t got any worse”.

            Almost on instinct, the doctor looked to the younger blonde, seeking approval of some kind. The younger man sighed heavily, clearly in discomfort. “Look, I just got here. I would’ve come sooner but I was, well you know”, he said. The centaur and doctor looked expectantly at him. A deep breath. “He’s got a serious head injury, and obviously some brain damage but....” he trailed off, looking over his shoulder at the unconscious form next to the black-haired patient. That guy looked like Hades ran over.

            Confused, he turned to his supervisors. “Who’s he?” the student asked, pointing at the form. The doctor and centaur stared at each other before looking back at the younger male. The centaur spoke first, a little hesitantly. “We don’t know for sure, he arrived with Percy. He protected him from most of the monsters, as you can probably see. He is a strong one, for sure”.          

            The younger male blinked. He looked back at the unknown male. He was Hispanic. Most of his body was covered in bandages, so it was hard to make out what he’d look like when he wasn’t Pillsbury Doughboy. His injuries were barely visible, but peeping out of white bandaging were deep lacerations, claw marks, bruises, and what looked like indentations.

            The doctor shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the door of the ward before setting back to look to the student and the centaur. He took a deep breath, quickly catching the attention of his two companions. “He’s my son, Chiron, and his name is Miguel”. With that, the doctor’s eyes shifted to the younger blonde’s. The student rubbed his eyes tiredly and sighed. “Of course he is,” he mumbled under his breath. The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. His face morphed into a frown just as the student made his way to Miguel’s bed to treat him. With all eyes on Miguel, the jet black-haired Percy’s one good eye fluttered. 

            When Dr. Fred caught evidence of Percy waking up, he flurried over to his bed to treat him. Chiron and the college student both noticed the action. The student’s eyes widened in surprise. Chiron trotted over in a hurry, his hooves scraping the marbled floor. “I thought he would never wake up,” Dr. Fred said in astonishment. The student sighs in relief. “We have to alert the others”, he says. Dr. Fred nods his head in agreement. Chiron sighs. “Very well, Will, have the honors”. Will hastily leaves the room in excitement.  

            Dr. Fred clears his throat. He forages with his clipboard, bending down to gather his supplies. Chiron trots over, concerned. “Leaving now, my Lord?” Dr. Fred, or Apollo really, frowns. His golden blonde hair greys for a second before reverting back to its ideal color. Apollo sighs. “I’m not very much welcome here, not even by my own son, Chiron. I must leave. It’s only right. I’ve done all I can for Percy and Miguel, and… the other”.

            Both heads turned to the farthest bed from the wall, where a red-haired male lies catatonic and wounded. His head is bandaged but his eyes are visible. They’re crystal blue and afraid. Both arms lie in casts, wrapped in an embrace over his heavily bandaged chest like an Egyptian mummy. Apollo turns away from the distressing scene. Chiron furrows his brows as if wondering if Apollo knows who the man is but won’t tell.

            “I’m afraid your Mr. D will have to help him. I’ve done all I can”, Apollo says in a dejected tone. The god motions to leave, but Chiron stops him. “Do they know?” Apollo shakes his head and frowns. Chiron nods before turning his head to look at his old student. Percy’s eye is still fluttering, but very, very slowly. With a brilliant golden flash, Apollo leaves. Will Solace returns with a line of friends, a moment too late for his father. By then, Chiron’s face is stoic.

            Upon arrival, a line of agitated and worried faces circles around Percy’s form, forming a protective rim. A tall red-haired girl in a university jacket and blue jeans decorated in market stains and glitter gasps in grief from seeing Percy. Most of the friends wear university hoodies and jackets as if they were all waiting for a bus to drop them off at their classes. All are grieved, but none more than a tall blonde haired girl in a purple hoodie and dark jeans. She runs to Percy and cries as she grabs his icy hand.  

            A tall blonde haired male opens his mouth to speak, looking away from the scene. “Will,” he starts, looking at the doctor in training. Will Solace’s eyes flicker to the ground before meeting the other blonde. The taller blonde in dark sunglasses looks expectantly at Will. “He’s waking up, but be patient man. He took a beating”. Will’s eyes flicker towards the red-haired girl. He glares with a wild anger.

            The girl swallows before speaking. “Will, I’m so, so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen, I swear. Percy has to be okay”. Green eyes pool with water before Will softens his glare. The others shift uncomfortably. A tall brunette in a Harvard University hoodie clears his throat. His hoodie’s name tag reads in cursive ‘Connor Stoll’. He’s wearing Adidas sandals and red corduroy pants, a silver Rolex watch and holding a keychain. “Will, what happened exactly?” he asks in a tired tone. Will swallows before continuing.

            All eyes look expectantly at Will. He’s using his good arm to absentmindedly wrap Ace bandages around his wrist. “I don’t know everything just that Percy arrived with that guy over there,” he says pointing to Miguel’s unconscious form. Before anyone can interrupt, he continues, “and that they were in a car wreck before being ambushed. He took the punches. His name is Miguel and he’s my, um, he’s my brother”. Connor Stoll nods, his face steely. He’s checking his watch before looking back expectantly at Will. Will grimaces. “I was um, I tried bringing Percy in, but I got ambushed”. Connor nods. He’s waiting like he knows something.

            The tall blonde from before looks to the ceiling then back at Will. The blonde girl wipes her tears. Will continues, looking at the brunette, “your brother, Connor, he um rescued us. After he arrived, we held ground until some kind of bird man flew us into camp. I’m serious”. Connor’s eyes fill with mirth. He chokes out a laugh. The others look incredulously at Will. Will looks serious. “I’m not one to lie. Ask Trevor Robinson. He’s in good health”. Connor and the tall blonde look at each other before looking towards Chiron. Chiron is silent but nods.

            “Will Solace tells the truth. We have received a blessing from Queen Hera herself. I do believe the peacock is her sacred animal. Connor, your brother Trevor, a fine fighter, told Lord Apollo himself what Will tells now. We have the heavens to thank”. The tall blonde haired girl breaks from holding Percy’s hand to scoff at the conversation. Chiron frowns. “Chiron, there’s no way Hera of all gods saved Percy. I’m afraid I can’t accept that”. “But it’s the truth Annabeth, I was there”, says Will. Connor clears his throat, attracting the attention of his friends.

            “We can’t argue here, guys. If Apollo, the god of truth believes Will, then they were rescued. How about let’s spend more time visiting Percy and less time fighting?”. Chiron smiles at Connor. “You’ve matured much boy”. All he gets is Connor’s nod. With all eyes in agreement, the friends turn to Percy, whose one good eye is still fluttering. The girl in purple brushes away black hair from Percy’s forehead before wiping her tears again.


	4. Chapter IV

            The good news is he isn't dead. Percy doesn't know why. He doesn't know how. He certainly doesn’t know at all what happened. The last thing he remembers is a Cyclops bringing a boulder down on his head and him falling to the ground. He wakes up in a familiar space but he can’t quite name it. Camp Half-Blood? The infirmary? Percy feels a headache coming on. He thinks he hears voices but he can’t make out the words. He can’t think without his head feeling like its hosting a fracking party.

            He thinks he hears something about a peacock flying him and Miguel into camp. That’s ridiculous. A peacock is the sacred animal of Hera, who by no means rescued him. He thinks he hears Annabeth’s voice but he can’t be sure. With his good eye open completely, he takes everything in. His good friends are circled around him. He sees Chiron, Will Solace, Connor Stoll, Jason Grace, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Piper McLean, Nico, Annabeth, and a few others he can’t name yet. To his left and through the bodies of his friends is, Miguel?

            Where’s Archer? He doesn’t remember seeing him after the wreck but be prays he’s alive. Why does he care so much for the guy who knocked him out? He can’t help but think something bad happened to him. Annabeth is rubbing his hand but why does it feel so wrong? Why is she being so close to him? She should be angry and hostile after what he’d put her through in the past couple of weeks.

            Lost in his head, Percy doesn’t notice his friends speaking to him. He only hears parts of a conversation but apparently, his face is blank because Chiron is now speaking directly to him.

            “Percy”, Chiron started. Percy blinked several times before looking with one eye at his old trainer. “Can you describe in detail what has happened to you in the last twenty-four hours?” Absolutely not. “Um,” he stammers. Gods his head hurts. Will Solace seems to notice how he feels because he’s suddenly bringing a tall glass of nectar over to his bed and he’ll forever be grateful for the son of Apollo. Percy drains the glass in seconds.

            Will looks at Nico for a moment, then back at Percy. When he sees the empty glass, his eyes widen. With his mouth like sandpaper, Percy motions for another glass of nectar. “No way, man. You’ve had enough for the day”. Percy shakes his head. Huge mistake there. He cries out in pain. Within seconds, Will is rummaging through an emergency medicine pack for more nectar and Annabeth is squeezing his hand. He hopes Annabeth can tell how grateful he is that she’s there, caring for him so much after he put her through Hades the last they saw each other. Her eyes are soft. His are damaged, just like him.

            Percy wants to know more about the peacock that rescued him, if Archer is alive, and what the Hades happened that turned Miguel into flat Stanley. However, his friends want answers and he’s not entirely sure he knows any. His head hurts still, even after Will gave in and gave him another canteen of nectar. In fact, his whole body feels like he took turns with Atlas holding the sky just for the hell of it.

            Chiron clears his throat. Percy flickers his good eye to his old trainer. How long was he lost in Percyland? A few minutes? His friends are looking incredibly worried. He can’t even remember what he was saying or thinking before. Luckily, Will, his good friend Will, notices his look of confusion and repeats Chiron’s request.

            “What do you remember man?” Oh, gods. What does he remember? Oh yeah, getting bludgeoned by an awfully rude Cyclops. He doesn’t say that. “Well, I had my wallet stolen in Brooklyn”, he started. Chiron looks disappointed. His friends stared on unamused. Percy wished someone would laugh because he sure can’t. “No really,” he says in a wheezy voice. His friends are silent. Annabeth turns away. What do they want from him? To say everything is okay and he’ll be fighting monsters tomorrow because he won’t. He feels like shit, plain and simple.

            “I was searching for a friend’s place so we could hang out and I had my wallet stolen after I was knocked out. That’s the truth”. Jason interjects. “You were knocked out just like that?” Yes. Yes, he was. Piper elbows her boyfriend in the rib. If Piper were equine, Percy would say thank you telepathically. Instead, he mouths it. She nods. Percy continues, “anyways, I was knocked out and,” Nico interrupts. “You had your wallet stolen, yeah we heard you. Who were you searching for?” Percy glares before starting again.

            Before he continues, Percy looks apologetically at his girlfriend. He had had plans to be with her before be canceled them in favor of going to Brooklyn. She was probably thinking how irresponsible he was. He hoped she could see how sorry he truly was. For her part, Annabeth was staring at her feet, ignoring his looks. He thought he could see out of the corner of his good eye tears streaking down her beautiful face, ruing her makeup that she didn’t need. He felt even worse. Percy shook these thoughts away. His friends were expecting answers and they wouldn’t get any if he was stuck with his regrets.

“Scott, my friend. He’s mortal and, well, normal. He’s normal”. Percy pauses before continuing. “Anyways, I didn’t find him because I was knocked out. When I came around, I chased the guy, and … he knocked me out again. He kicked me into a wall and then we were attacked by hellhounds and…” Percy paused. Annabeth squeezed his hand again. Gods he loved her. He wished she knew that.

            “Who hit you?” Piper asked tentatively. That question. Great. Percy grimaced. Will grabbed ambrosia squares off an empty cot and held them up for Percy. Percy carefully shook his head, leaving Will looking uncomfortable. How could he answer this question? Percy sniffled and breathed out, “a guy named Archer”. He wished he didn’t have to say his name. “We came here together, have you seen him Will? Red hair, blue eyes, really tall?” He hoped he didn’t sound too worried. Annabeth was looking at him weirdly.

            Everyone looks at each other. Surely Percy can’t be worried about a guy who knocked him out. Yet he is. Very worried, actually. Will looks confused. His eyebrows furrow. He picks up a white clipboard and studies it carefully. When he looks up, he frowns. “We haven’t treated anyone who matches that description, Percy. I’m sorry”. This time, Percy’s head falls. He can’t help but look crestfallen.

Nico frowns this time. “Wait, a demigod attacked you?” Percy didn’t even hesitate. “No, I don’t think he’s a demigod, but he can see monsters “. He looks to Will again. “Will, I was in a car wreck with him and one other guy, the guy over there in the body cast. He, Miguel, treated me in his apartment after we escaped the hellhounds. Was there anyone pulled from the wreckage this morning?” Percy looks hopeful. His face falls when his friends all look to the floor. What aren’t they telling him?

            Will looks at his feet before turning back to Percy. “Percy, you’ve been in a coma for a month. It’s January 20”. Percy feels numb. Archer must be dead if it’s been a month. He feels like throwing up. A month? Will continues. “Miguel carried you up the hill and fought off the monsters. He took the punches but I took your unconscious form from him. I got you to Thalia’s tree before we were ambushed. A son of Hermes helped us. Before I saw you and Miguel, I was fending for my life. You wouldn’t believe how many monsters were there, dude. I was leading the defenses that night because Peleus was…, he was sick and Chiron said the tree needed defending. There wasn’t another guy, I’m sorry”.

            Lying in the infirmary, his face full of welts and covered by ambrosia squares, Percy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Miguel carried him up the hill? Will tried saving his life after what he did to Nico? He’d apparently been in a comatose state for a month. He slept through December, missing Christmas and the New Year. It was now January 20th, and Winter Break was over for many colleges, meaning his friends would be back in school and away from camp, and he’d be alone. And yet there they were, surrounding him.

            He was touched that his friends cared so much for him but all he felt was dread. Then he remembered that Nico could tell if Archer was dead. He looked expectantly at the younger demigod. Seeming to get the message, Nico looked down. Percy too looked down. “Percy, I can’t just tell if someone is alive, I need something from them, something that identifies them. I’m sorry”. Percy could feel the anxiety rising. He looked at his friends then at his casts. Will looked apologetic. “I’ll look for him, dude, I promise”. Percy looked gratefully at the son of Apollo. For whatever reason, his other friends looked uncomfortable.

            Chiron stared ahead as if waiting for him to say anything else. Percy felt tired and beat. Holding the weight of the sky was nothing compared to the feeling of being hurled at a tree while still inside an already damaged car, thrown at more trees, and having his head used as a pillow for monster punching.

            Despite apparently being asleep for a month, Percy felt more tired than in his whole life. Maybe it was getting kicked around by monsters, or just being tired of the world. He didn't know. All he knew is that he wanted everything to go away. He wanted to find Archer. He wanted things with Annabeth to be normal again. He wanted peace.

            Chiron must have noticed his weary look, because he ordered all of the campers to retreat to their cabins for the night, signaling that it must have been night time. Great. Just great. Chiron and the others, except Will, Nico, and Connor left. Annabeth remained seated but looked far away, like she wasn’t really there. She wasn’t holding his hand anymore.

            Connor spoke first. “Man, you look like crap. We're going to Bunker 9 for the night if you're interested in coming. Jake made sure to build some beds before he left. I'm sure Dr. Will won't mind”, he said eyeing Will easily. Will rolled his eyes at Connor, spreading squares of ambrosia on Miguel's scarred face, probably out of boredom. Annabeth just rolled her eyes.

            Percy rubbed his eyes with his non bandaged hand. “I'm beat man. Maybe tomorrow. Don't go around telling everyone all this. 'Kay?”. Connor nodded, looking serious for only the second time in their friendship. “Yeah, I know man”. Connor left after that, leaving Annabeth, Nico, and Will in his corner of the infirmary. Nico took his turn speaking to Percy shortly after Connor left. His eyes looked pained like he was still stuck in a jar in the Underworld. Percy hated that look on his friend's face. By the frown on Will and Annabeth’s faces, they were thinking along the same lines as him.

            Percy internally grimaced thinking what the son of Hades could possibly say. “We need to speak in private later” was all he got. Before Percy could formulate a response in his mind, Nico vanished in a trail of black smoke. Will didn't look up from Miguel's bed, but Percy knew he was intrigued, just from knowing the guy for several years. With just Will and Annabeth with him, the air felt thick. Will cleared his throat.

            “I’m going to um, get some more wraps. If you need me Percy, just page. I’ll um, I’ll leave now” he said awkwardly before turning on his heel to leave. Percy could feel Annabeth cringe. He almost laughed. Annabeth did once Will was out of earshot. Once she stopped laughing, Percy smiled. His smile dropped when Annabeth’s face morphed into a frown. Her gray eyes furrowed like they did when she was upset. Percy just knew that he was the reason for her frown. It killed him, hurting worse than all his bruises.

            With a dramatic sigh, Percy closed his eye before refocusing on his girlfriend. She was looking at him now, with full tears bubbling in her eyes. He wanted to reach out and wipe away all the pain but he knew it wouldn’t change a thing. He couldn’t move his body anyhow. Instead, he wheezes out a broken sorry. She just cried more. He just broke inside more.

            “Percy, what’s happened to us? We used to be great. Now we’re here”. Percy reached out to grab her hand but pain spiked in his back so he was forced to keep still. Gods he hated feeling powerless. Now he hated not being able to hold Annabeth’s hand. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for getting injured and being reckless but he couldn’t form words.

            “I’m sorry I’ve been distant, Annabeth. It’s just that you’ve been busy and,” he was interrupted by Annabeth’s interjection. She was looking at him incredulously.

            “I’ve been busy? Percy, I give you me all the time. New Athens isn’t half finished because I’m delaying it in hopes you’ll turn up. You’re the one who’s constantly finding excuses to avoid me. What’s going on?”  She’s fumbling with her hoodie straps now in a way that reminds him of Leo Valdez. He can tell she’s irritated at him.

            “Annabeth, I am not avoiding you!” he shouts. Before he knows it, she’s crying again and he’s feeling like shit. The knife inside him twists a little deeper every time she cries but he can’t help it. He can’t help feeling that nothing he does is good enough for her. They didn’t use to have issues but now almost every conversation escalates into an argument. It’s like they’re pushing against a wall that won’t move. The instance she cries he’s holding her hand and caressing it. She just cries more. With each tear that rains down her face, Percy feels a little worse.

            “Yes, yes you are Percy,” she accuses, dropping his hand. Her eyes burn with a teary anger. He knows this will be another argument that he can’t win. If he were to tell her the truth she wouldn’t understand. Instead, he tells her he’s tired, a well-worn excuse she can see right through. This time, she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she jumps from her chair and glares at him, her gray eyes as stormy as ever. She looks ready to pounce on every inadequate answer he gives.

            “Tell me the truth,” she pleads. Her eyes are teary. He just lays still.

            “You like your normal friends better than me, better than this,” she gestures around the infirmary before turning back to him. “No, that’s not it”. She laughs bitterly. “Then why lie about where you go? I know you don’t visit your family that much Percy”. He rubs his face with his good hand.

            “Can’t I have friends that aren’t demigods?”. She laughs again, this time with tears staying in place. Now he’s getting worked up.

            “It’s a simple request, Annabeth. I deserve to have my own life”. Annabeth stares at him incredulously, as if a demigod having mortal friends was the most bizarre thing in the world. She fiddles with her car keys, a frown concealing her face. With a sniffle, she looks to the floor before turning to him.

            “Am I in that life of yours?” she asks softly. He doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course you’re in that life!” She scoffs. “Really? If I have a place in that world of yours, why lie? Why say you’re going to your mom’s when you’re hanging out with whoever? Is there another girl, is that it? Am I being replaced?” Percy can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. Another girl? Him? Cheat? He would never. “No, never. How could you think you’re replaceable wise girl? I went to hell for you”.

            Wrong words. Now she’s crying and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t really move more than his hand and she won’t come close to him. “I don’t know what to think anymore! All the sudden you’re lying about where you’re going, staying out all night, and showing up like this! It’s like you’re pushing me away”. Percy can feel the anxiety swelling inside him. If she finds out the truth, he’s screwed.

            “I’m not trying to, I swear,” he says in a calm voice. On the inside, he’s terrified. He’s also in a huge amount of pain. The stress of defending himself has strained him. His head feels like it’s being encased in mile-thick concrete. He can’t tell if it’s stress or his injuries. He just knows his breathing is shortening and Annabeth is calling out to him. He can’t hear what she’s saying and it’s scaring him. The next thing he knows he’s shaking and the world goes black. Just before fading, he thinks he hears the sound of Will Solace’s voice but he can’t be sure. 


End file.
